Tears of the Downtrodden

"Sit down, you knife-eared freak!" shouted a pockmarked man who stood behind Tomea, a sword held at his neck. The elvish man was being pinned down by at least two other men, their cold metallic gauntlets digging into his shoulders. "So which one of you stole the food from the Devenals?" The pockmarked man pushed the sword slightly into his neck, just enough to be able to feel pain from it but not enough to be able to be cut. "How many more times must I explain myself, I was going home from fishing, my home is nowhere near their home. Captain Herna, please let me go." Tomea pleaded as the blade dug deeper into his neck, finally drawing out blood. "You must take me for a half-wit, you people always like taking from us men, can't do a day's work, so you resort to stealing from us decent folk.' The captain hissed at the downtrodden elf, his eyes filled with the usual hatred he felt from all the men who lived in Doenheaep. "You elves are always a nuisance for us, sometimes I wish the king would just let us deal with you our own way." The captain callously said, picking up the silver blade he held at Tomea's neck. He felt the stinging of the cut he had made on his neck and the warm and coldness of the blood leaking out through the small incision.

"Cap'n I got the bastard right here, says the Dunbars hired him to steal the food." A disheveled, emaciated man entered the room in a rush, clutching a tall, fair-skinned man of about thirty. "Of course, it is yet another human." Tomea huffed to himself, feeling a surge of familiar disdain upon sighting yet another human. However, this time something felt distinctly unusual. He felt exhausted, fed up with constantly being belittled by humanity, the countless empires, kingdoms, duchies and even the few republics the world had. He remembered the stories his family would tell of days when the elves roamed free throughout the lands when humans had not yet harbored their hatred towards them and coexisted with them. The two guards lifted him off the ground, their grip tight on his shoulders. "Alright knife-ears, you are free to go." The captain begrudgingly said, sliding his sword back into its scabbard. The prison in Doenheaep consisted of three buildings and a moderately sized tower in the middle that overlooked the entirety of the prison. Two more guards followed behind him, their weapons were not drawn but held their hands at the scabbard just in case. "On with it." Shouted one of the guards who stood by the gate. He turned back and pulled on the rusted iron chains, the shrieking sound of rusted that struggled to pull the grated metal door back up.

The gate rose just high enough for Tomea to go through, the daylight was breaking, he had been detained for nearly a whole night. Tomea was part of the Tana'il, elves pushing for their rights, seen by the empire as rebels. Most people in Doenheaep were elves, with a few humans and a secluded group of dwarfs. Tomea sensed Captain Herna's lingering hostility as he walked away, a wordless threat of future encounters. Stepping outside, Tomea noticed the fresh morning air mixed with a sense of liberation he hadn't felt in a while. His walk home was filled with the indignant looks of the guard, the stern hateful looks burned. Yet, this newfound freedom was shadowed by the pervasive scrutiny that clung to his every step, a reminder that even beyond the prison's confines, true liberty remained elusive. Tomea let out a sigh of relief, being detained any longer would have proved detrimental for the Tana'il. (The Tana'il were a group of rebels that fought for the rights of elven kin). For six long months they had been plotting something, the blacksmiths began smiting more weapons that were asked of and the bow-makers made plenty of bows. Tomea had joined the group not more than three years ago. At first, he had been hesitant to join. Government spies were a lot, you could not trust a person more so if you were an elf.

Tomea turned the worn iron handle and stepped through the door into the welcoming arms of an older human woman. "Loreli, you are safe. Thanks to the gods." Tomea let out a sigh of relief. His wife had been caught up as well, but was let go as soon as the guards realized she was a human. Whether she did or did not commit the crime did not matter because their word was taken with more trust than that of an elf. Tomea appreciated how she used her advantage to help his people, always leading even in a society that undervalued her. "Tomea." Called Den'oel, his face was deep in a mug of Delysian ale, his face was red. He had long been into his drinking. "They let you go? What a damn surprise." He said, shocked that he was able to go free. "Aye, Den. The bastards were going to kill me, but the guards caught the whore son." He rubbed the cut that Herna had made on his neck, it had started to sting again with the dry cold air of night. Den stood up from his seat, wobbling because the drink had rushed to his head, he held on to one of the chairs beside him to balance himself. "They are onto us, aren't they? This is not just about a small theft. They know you are one of us but know not enough for them to be able to hold you or come after us." Den slurred his words. "Then we shouldn't let them know then. Let's move up the day of the raid then" Den looked down at the short sword he left on the table, then looked up at Tomea's wife. "Camilla. Send word to the others. These Imperial whore sons have pushed our hand. We ride tomorrow to the mayor's villa." Camilla was taken aback. The plan for attack had been planned for the next month, but the realization finally set in. Camilla's eyes widened and turned to look at Tomea and then toward Den. "What is it?" The large elvish man asked, noticing the look in her eyes. "They know. The bastards know about the plan." Her voice escalated from a whisper to a shout.

Before Den could get words out of his mouth, a loud, metallic bang rung throughout the room. A group of ten armored men rushed into the room. Den's face contorted into boundless anger; he stood up and with a swift kick sent the table flying toward the guards. His blade spun in the air but gracefully landed in his hand. Den lunged toward the guards and tore down about three with ease, letting out shrieks of horror and pain as the blade sliced clean through the unarmored crevices in their armor. Tomea grabbed one of the small bottles of ale they had been drinking before they had arrived, he snapped to his right and bashed the bottle right on the face of the guardsmen, causing him to stumble back, giving Camilla a chance to push the man down onto the floor. "Hurry Camilla!" Den shouted, one of the soldiers had been able to pin him onto the floor. Tomea rushed to push the man off, the metallic clanging of his armor making a clamor as the guard landed face first on the floor. Den got up, steadied his sword and swung with all of his might. The sword made contact with the sword, but it had hit hard enough that it would have caused the man to pass out. Den waddled toward the back door of the building. There were more guards outside, but the only way to the town would be via the tunnel in the back. The pair entered the back room and though it was small, the majority of the room was filled with weapons and supplies. At the very back was a small unobstructed corner that had a barely visible outline. Den waddled toward the wall and moved a box that was to the left of the space, revealing a small wooden lever. He pulled the lever; a hidden door slid open, exposing the tunnel. Tomea stopped before he went through the tunnel, Camilla stopped and saw him rummaging around in a box. "What are you doing? "We have to hurry!" Camilla shouted to him from the tunnel. "Just a minute, we can't leave without these." He said as he pulled out two small iron swords. Tomea put his in his scabbard and tossed the other to Camilla, who sheathed it quickly. Behind them the secret door slowly closed, Den mouthed something that the both of them could not hear. This was the last they ever saw of Den.

Tomea pushed on the rusted iron door of the tunnel. The damp tunnel was once a pathway to an underground temple used by the elves long before humans settled the area. The door had been a remnant of those ages passed, the door finally opened. It screamed as if the damn thing was alive, the streets as empty. They had made it in time before they could come around this way and catch them, Tomea stopped at the first step out of the tunnel. "Camilla." He quietly said as his gaze was fixed toward the town. Tomea's sudden change in demeanor made her stomach sink. "Go to warn the town that the time is now. I will stay here and look out for the guardsmen." Camilla watched him as he unsheathed the sword from its scabbard. He turned around to face her. "But are you sure you will be able to hold them off?" Her concern for him was evident, but Tomea was prepared for what was to come. "If I am or not it doesn't matter, I will fight, Camilla. Just as you fought for my life I will fight so that yours can continue even if you are not of my people." Tomea's gaze stood in the same place. "Now hurry up Camilla before they get here." He waved his hand toward the village. Off in the distance, the clamor of metal was slowly getting louder and louder and louder. About twenty men, donned in shiny iron armor, marched down from where their headquarters was. Herna, the captain, walked in front of fury in his clearly visible eyes. Tomea held his sword in front of him and stood in the path that they would eventually reach. He tightened his grip on the hilt, feeling the familiar weight of the blade steady his nerves. His jaw clenched as a focused resolve settled in his eyes, ready to meet Herna's oncoming storm. He knew death was coming, but to him that was a sacrifice well worth the fight. For how will freedom come if no one was willing to die for it? The guards noticed him and immediately unsheathed their swords, the captain had his already out of the scabbard. They began to go faster. Then two men of the group charged toward him, thrusting their blades toward his chest. Tomea just barely managed to block one of their attacks with the bottom of the blade. He pushed it back with all of his might and was just barely managed to strike the gauntleted hand of the guard to his left, causing him to drop the sword. Tomea kicked the unprotected shin of the man whose attack had been blocked. His grip tightened on the blade, his teeth ground in anticipation of the next wave of attacks. Now surrounded, Tomea stopped holding his sword and swung suddenly to his left, causing a guardsmen to trip up and fall. "Alright enough toying with him, get him now!" shouted Captain Herna angrily. Before Tomea could fix his stance, the group of soldiers crowded him. He swung his blade, this time in desperation. His time was up. Tomea gripped his sword in his hand and shoved the blade into the dirt, his jaw unclenched. He relaxed himself. "Tana'il" he muttered. Iron made contact with his skin; the coldness of it made him shudder. "Tana'il" he whispered as he fell to the ground feeling the lasts of his breath leave his body. Tana'il, the words of Freedom.